


Greg needs a hug, a drink, or maybe both

by brooklyn09



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Days, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:23:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklyn09/pseuds/brooklyn09
Summary: Greg's day starts well, but goes downhill very quickly. Everything that can go wrong, does. Mycroft steps in to save the day.





	Greg needs a hug, a drink, or maybe both

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @babynovak05 on Tumblr who was having a really bad day. A little humor to make her smile.

The day started out like any other. His alarm went off at the set time. The sun was shining brightly ouside, the weather forecast called for warmer than normal temperatures. Spring was coming! Hot water rained down from the showerhead above, soothing stiff muscles. He had picked up the dry cleaning on his way home from work yesterday so he was able to wear his favorite suit today. Mycroft was coming home tonight from his trip after being away for several days. All was right with the world. 

But then, Greg's day inexplicably headed south. 

While making breakfast, he dropped a full carton of eggs on the floor. While cleaning up the resulting gooey mess, he forgot about the toast in the toaster, only remembering it when he smelled something burning and the smoke detector let out a piercing wail. In his hurry to shut the alarm off, he slipped in the egg mess on the floor, falling to one knee and soiling his pants. Finally he made it to the toaster and pulled the plug, and threw his shoe at the alarm, silencing it. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the mess. So much for getting a good start to the day. He rushed to clean up the eggs, in the end just settling for dumping it all in the trash and vowing to mop after work. He tossed the toast in the bin, and swept the crumbs into his hand.... only his fingers weren't together and many of the crumbs fell to the floor. He hoped he'd get home before Mycroft tonight - Myc wouldn't be pleased with the state of the kitchen. 

Greg realized he was now encroaching on being late for work. He rushed upstairs, throwing his pants in the hamper, yanking a new pair off a hanger, and sitting down in the closet to put on a new pair of socks and his shoes. He grabbed the pull cord for the light, and heard a sharp *pop*. The lightbulb blew. Sighing, he grabbed the closest pair of shoes and shoved his feet inside. Was today Friday the 13th or something? He didn't think so. Did he get up on the wrong side of the bed? No, he rolled out of the usual side. He vowed to turn his day around. Things couldn't go on like this, could they? 

He rushed down the stairs, grabbing his house keys from the dish on the table by the door. He felt the car keys in his coat pocket, just where he left them. Locking the door he stepped outside, only to feel the house keys slip from his hand and fall in the foyer.....as the door was sliding shut with a click. "Bullocks!" Greg yelled. " I can not believe this! " He leaned forward knocking his head against the closed door. Taking a deep sigh, he collected his thoughts and got in the car. If Mycroft wasn't home yet, he'd just have to stop by Baker Street on his way home for the spare key.

When he was almost to Scotland Yard, he remembered it was his day to bring the donuts. He made a sudden U-turn, inviting the ire of several cars behind him. "Oh bugger off!" Greg yelled to no one in particular . He ran in the local pastry shop and ordered a few dozen donuts and muffins to share. He also grabbed himself a coffee, which he promptly spilled on the console of his car while trying to put it in the cup holder. He couldn't be bothered to clean it up. He was now officially late. They were probably getting ready to riot in the office without their donuts. He'd never hear the end of it. 

Finally he made it to the Yard (without dropping the donuts - small miracles!). He set them all on the break room table and opened the boxes to be devoured by his hungry crew....only to find that the frosted tops of the donuts had all stuck to the top of the box, leaving plain, naked donuts in their wake. "Lestrade!" someone wailed. "What the heck happened to the donuts? Did you drop them or something? Geesh, what a bummer." The constables began filing out of the break room, shaking their heads. This could not be happening. Nothing was going right. 

Greg decided to try to regroup by taking some quiet time in the men's room. Splash some water on his face and take a few deep breaths. When he felt marginally better, he decided to use the loo, since he was there anyways. He unzipped his fly and began to go, when he noticed that he had two different color shoes on. Brown and black. Same style of shoe. Just different colors. "Oi, maybe no one will notice", thought Greg, wishfully. He finished up and went to wash his hands, only to find there were no more paper towels in the dispenser. In any of the three dispensers in the bathroom. Sighing, he kicked open a stall door and grabbed a handful of toilet paper, watching it disintegrate in his hands as he tried to dry them. He threw the offending bits in the bin on his way out. Unbeknownst to him, he was trailing a few pieces of toilet paper behind him that were stuck on the bottom of his shoe. That earned him little giggles and stares as he made his way back to the office. 

Once at his desk, he dropped his head down, bouncing it repeatedly off the surface. It was only 9:30 am. 

His mobile chirped an alert, and he looked at it hopefully. A text from Mycroft.

M - Can you talk?

G - Yes! 

The phone rang and Greg immediately picked up.

"Myc! You don't know how good it is to hear your voice! I am having the worst day ever! "

"Why, what exactly is going on?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I don't even believe it. Will you be home tonight? I miss you."

"That's why I'm calling. Things here have gone better than expected and I hope to be home early this afternoon."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I could really use a hug. Or an extra large coffee. Maybe six shots of vodka. I'd even take two weeks of sleep."

Chuckling, Mycroft purred, "I'm sure some of that can be managed. Perhaps you can leave work early today?"

"Might as well. I'm honestly scared of what else can happen today."

"Well, finish up there, then, and I'll be home as soon as I can. We'll put on some music, lounge on the couch in front of the fire, order take out, and I'll do my best to improve your day."

"Thank you gorgeous. Just hearing your voice makes me feel better. I'll see you soon."

Hanging up his phone, Greg called Sally in his office to tell her she was in charge for the rest of the day. He got up and went to pull his jacket off the coat rack, hearing a big rip as he pulled. The jacket pulled free, but the lining stayed firmly attached to the coat rack. Frustrated, Greg yanked hard, causing the rack to topple, knocking a pile of papers stacked on the bookshelf to the floor.

"Go, guv! Get out of here. You're a national disaster today, and frankly I'm scared to be around you. It may be contagious!" yelled Sally.

"Thanks, Sal. I'll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow's another day. It can't be much worse than today, can it?"

"Here's hoping, boss."

And with that, Greg exited his office, eagerly anticipating reuniting with his husband, knowing he'd try his best to make everything better again. One day soon, today would be a distant memory that he could laugh over. Maybe.


End file.
